by Laura Kemp
‘It’s so good to see you! I’ve missed you so much,’ Sasha breathed into her hair.
Hours on a plane and she still smelled as sweet as icing. Em had intended to give her a stiff air peck but Sasha was oh so impossible to resist. And she didn’t want to be rude. She sank her chin onto Sasha’s shoulder and rubbed her back. Just to be nice. ‘Welcome home,’ she said, hearing the echo of her words repeated inside her head in a mocking, scornful tone.
Well done, Em, you lasted three point eight seconds there. I’m doing this for Floyd, she said to the voice. Course you are, it whined back, talk about shallow. What’s the point in causing a scene or being antagonistic, Em mentally replied, when things have changed? I’ve opted out of matters of the heart – I just want a quiet and simple life for me and my baby, that’s all. Whatever you say, her mimic said.
Sasha stood back, taking her hands in Em’s. ‘I’m so happy for you, you’re going to be a fantastic mum.’
‘Floyd told you…’ Em wasn’t sure how she felt: Mum and Dad still didn’t know. She hadn’t yet found the moment: there had been so much to work out. Should she be angry at Floyd? Yet it was easy to entrust someone with a secret if they were in a different time zone. And who knows, had Sasha been here from the beginning, maybe Em would’ve told her from the off herself.
‘Of course he did! Nearly halfway, aren’t you?’
The way she said it revealed Sasha still thought of her as a sister. It left her stumbling for a response. Damn her! She manoeuvred herself back onto solid ground. ‘How was the flight?’
‘I was upgraded so I had a flat bed.’ Sasha shrugged as though this sort of thing happened to everyone. She had never had it hard; fortune followed her around like a loyal fan. ‘I grabbed some of the business-class products for you, fluffy socks, an eye mask, some posh skincare stuff. Oh and there are some Thai spices in my bag. For the kitchen. And I hope you don’t mind, but I bought a little buddha for the baby.’
Em took a deep breath, thanked her with a hug and then showed her in, pointing at Floyd’s door so she could put her bag out of sight.
‘You haven’t told him I was coming back today, have you?’ Sasha asked, tying her hair up, which revealed more grace; breathtaking cheekbones, a long elegant neck and narrow but assertive shoulders.
‘I’ve got an ambulance on standby for his heart attack, the great big wimp that he is,’ Em said to get out of telling a lie. Floyd was so together, except when it came to Sasha; she’d let him know it would be some time in the next couple of days so he had the chance to gather himself.
Sasha laughed her generous laugh, covering everything within hearing distance in happy confetti.
‘Tea?’ Em said, needing something to settle her dancing stomach. Perhaps she’d eaten too much fibre lately, she thought. ‘Green, white, jasmine, Earl Grey? I’m having peppermint.’
‘Have you got PG Tips? I’ve been dreaming of a proper cup of builder’s tea for a year.’
‘Yep. Floyd’s got some. Still like it strong and sweet?’ Em berated herself again for slipping back into their once-familiar patter, rather than making a stand that Sasha had chosen the world over her brother.
‘Just like I like my men!’
At the same time, as if it was a well-rehearsed joke, they both announced: ‘Not like Floyd, then!’
Em knew she was doomed. In the past year, she had refrained from liking any of Sasha’s schmaltzy hashtag blessed Facebook updates – wishing instead for a dislike, no, a ‘grow up’ button – and had only sent the odd pithy response to her emails. But in spite of that minimal contact, they were still on the same wavelength.
She flicked on the kettle and sat down opposite Sasha at the breakfast bar. Had Em put her hair up, her ears would be doing their pixie impression. But even Sasha’s ears were lovely and flat and neat. Em searched for a flaw, an indication of ageing or tiredness, but a year in the sun had done nothing except kiss her. Even nature wasn’t immune to her charms. They were both thirty-one, but Sasha could pass for being in her early twenties. Em hadn’t been asked for ID since she was fifteen, such was her mumsy look which had long pre-dated her now tubby torso. She played with her fringe and panicked about how she was going to broach their lack of contact.
But Sasha got in there first. ‘Listen, before Floyd gets back, I just wanted to say something,’ she said, earnestly. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you. I had to find out for myself that I already had everything I needed with Floyd and you. I went on this yoga course thing in India – it was a nightmare to be honest, full of stressed-out executives seeking nirvana, trying to chuck money at their problems – but it made me realize all that searching was actually a waste. I had it here all the time.’ Sasha put a hand on her heart and allowed the silence to magnify her words.
Em had imagined this moment ever since Sasha had deserted Floyd. She’d be spouting off and Em would rip into her and tell her how she’d let everyone down. But now the opportunity was here, she didn’t feel the rage she had expected. She was astounded to see now that she had found an acceptance that there were shades of grey. Floyd wouldn’t thank her either for raking over old coals. Em wanted to let the past go.
‘I owe you an apology too. I should’ve been in touch but…’ Em said, as any remaining awkwardness disappeared. ‘…Well, I was hurt, believe it or not, not just on Floyd’s behalf but on my own too. I thought of you as more than just his girlfriend. I thought of you as my friend. So when you walked out, it felt as if you’d betrayed me too. And so I couldn’t bring myself to stay in contact. It was silly of me to be so uptight, I know that now.’
‘I’m going to make it up to you both. Just wait and see!’
The ceasefire set off popcorn in Em’s belly. It looked as if Floyd was going to have his happy ending and she would have a friend back, just when she needed her.
A bang, bang, bang came from the hall.
‘EM! I’VE FORGOTTEN MY KEY. LET ME IN.’
It was Floyd!
‘OKAY,’ Em shouted to him, flapping her hands. Then she whispered to Sasha, ‘Go on, you do it!’
Sasha pulled an ‘aargh’ face, crossed her fingers and then nipped to the door as Em hovered behind her. He was going to collapse, Em knew it. And by the way Sasha had been talking, he might even die of happiness! All his waiting had paid off, all of his mooning about and funny moods. The popcorn turned to fireworks in her stomach when Sasha flung open the door and threw her arms up in the air.
‘Misery Guts from upstairs buzzed me in,’ Floyd said, looking down at his phone, before mimicking Rhys, the killjoy civil servant who lived in the flat above. “Do it again and I’ll report you to the residents’ committEEEEEE…” Jeez, Sash!’
Floyd stepped back in a double-take. He had actually forgotten Sasha would be here, Em could tell by his eyes, which were bulging out of his head. What a moron!
Sasha leapt off the floor and jumped up to cuddle him with her arms and legs. He was actually speechless!
But before he could say anything, Sasha had let go of him and was on the floor. On bended knee.
No! Em couldn’t believe it – was Sasha about to do what Em thought she was going to do?
‘Floyd Good-Fellow…’ Sasha began.
Her brother froze, open-mouthed. Em held her breath.
‘Would you do me the pleasure of becoming my husband?’ she asked sincerely. ‘I love you, Floyd. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives. And hurry up because my knee is starting to hurt.’
‘Well, when you put it like that…’ Floyd said, pulling her up into his arms. He looked solemn, which must have meant he was deeply touched, Em thought. So she cheered and she was bundled into a group hug which turned into a jig.
But it made Em want to belch, she’d been struggling with a gassy feeling on and off all day, so she stepped away to still herself. But even though she was motionless, something inside of her was still moving. Oh, please don’t let it be a fart, she thought, clenching her bum ch
eeks.
Then a few seconds later it dawned on her and she gasped and held a hand over her tummy. Floyd had seen her.
‘What is it? Everything okay?’ he said, peering with concern over his specs into her face, holding her arm to check.
Em nodded, stunned. Talk about timing.
‘I thought it was trapped wind. But it’s the baby. I can feel it kicking!’
Thursday
Frankie
‘Anything in particular you fancy, love?’ the stylist said to Frankie’s reflection as she gowned her up and combed through her long, tired-looking locks. Oh, not much, just something that will match the wow when I save my marriage!
‘I’m a hairdresser, so, I’m not going to ask you to make me look like Taylor Swift.’
‘Why do they do that? “Tammy,” my clients say to me, “you couldn’t trim off three stone and perform a face lift too, could you?” We’re not miracle workers, are we?’
‘I just want a change. Something a bit less boring, more sophisticated, you know?’
‘I do, love, I do. You’ve got the right texture for it.’
‘A bit like yours actually. In fact, exactly like yours,’ Frankie said, pointing her fingers at Tammy’s long choppy bob.
‘Easy!’ she said, taking her to the sinks for a wash.
The hot water soothed away the day, which she’d spent dashing round South Wales to fit in eight clients plus a warehouse run. Then she’d come into town to find The Dress to knock out Jason – a black silky tunic which covered her front entirely but revealed a bare back all the way down to her waist, a style she’d never have dared worn a few months ago. She hadn’t had a minute to ring him yet but she was building up to it; only when she could see the woman she’d become would she dare.
She had plenty of mates who could’ve done her cut but they’d have given her the same old thing. In here, in this cool city centre salon with dark walls and ethereal lighting, she was anonymous.
As the sweet scent of shampoo then conditioner reached her nose, she knew what she desired – a new chapter after the biggest adventure of her life. And it started now, with the most tingliest of scalp massages. Frankie responded by pointing her toes in delight; she realized she was reacting to another person’s touch with a deeper level of awareness. It was a reminder that this was the first Thursday night she’d been without Floyd in weeks; she had a pang for him then, just like the one she’d had on her way into town when Em messaged to say Floyd was getting married to Sasha. It had been the most unsettling feeling – a great sadness that he wasn’t part of her life anymore, combined with a soaring happiness for him having his wish granted. What would they be doing now? Probably in bed. Floyd relieved to have an equal rather than a trainee to play with.
As wet chunks of hair fell this way and that, she concentrated on her reinvention instead. From shy and frightened to confident and brimming with self-belief.
Once the blow-dryer had done its thing, Frankie knew it was time to call Jason, for there before her was a sassy lady with the most gorgeous of swishy bobs.
She had to seize the moment – but where should she go to call him? What would a sassy lady with the most gorgeous of swishy bobs do, she wondered, and then she knew. She would go into a bar all by herself – for the first time ever – and order a posh cocktail!
So she set off down Queen Street, swinging her shopping bag, and found the perfect place for a balmy evening; a rooftop terrace playing sundowner beats, containing grand leather wingback chairs, and tables of railway sleepers bordered by potted palm trees and Mediterranean grasses. Feeling a tad self-conscious but doing it anyway, she found a spot and perused the menu, settling for a Sour Cosmopolitan, and waited until she had had half of it for luck before daring to pick up her mobile. This was it, the moment she’d been working towards since her barbecue. Eight weeks had passed since then and in that time she’d put everything into exorcising the ghost of being boring in bed. She’d confronted embarrassment and humiliation and, to her surprise, she’d found out she wasn’t frigid or useless; she knew what turned her on now. She was all woman. She tapped on Jason’s name and waited, holding her breath. Please don’t go to answerphone, she prayed, because she couldn’t ask him out like that. It had to be done directly, in the way she’d learned to speak with Floyd.
It rang once, twice, three times – where was he? He usually picked up straight away – four, five – he was avoiding her, she knew it, oh God – six, seven – all of this for nothing – eight… ‘Frankie!’ He sounded pleased to hear from her, but he also sounded breathless. Her mind began to accuse him of doing all sorts of things. Quick, say something!
‘Hi! Yeah, it’s me. Okay?’
‘Yeah, great! I’m in the gym, doing some weights.’ Phew. ‘You?’
‘Good. Um, I was wondering if you were free on Saturday night?’
Was there a slight pause? ‘Yeah, I’ve got nothing on.’ Her stomach fell all the way down to her knickers as she thought of him naked.
‘Cool. I thought we could get a bite to eat.’ This was going amazingly well! ‘Shall I message you where? I’ll have a think, we could try somewhere new.’ To show she was different.
‘Nice one, can’t wait.’
She’d done it! Her heart thumping, she threw her phone into her handbag, knocked back the rest of her drink and skipped her way down the stairs. She was going to think of nothing else for the next two days! How she was going to concentrate, she had no idea. There was so much to do – leg-shaving, moisturising, exfoliating, fake-tanning, nail-painting, eyebrow-plucking. And so many decisions to take. Should she get a Brazilian or was that too much? A new perfume or her old one? Earrings or a choker – she had to figure out what would work when she was naked. Then there were the shoes, which ones would go with her dress? No more the sweet innocent wife but a self-assured lover.
Her dress… She’d only left the bloody bag in the bar. Racing back, she burst through the doors and up the steps to where she had sat. But the bag was gone – oh no! She’d spent hours looking for the right thing to wear and it had been the last one in her size in the shop. Frankie went up to the bar to ask if it had been handed in. The barman, who was serving, caught her eye and indicated he had what she was after. Hallelujah! Frankie felt her shoulders relax as she caught her breath and she looked around at the dimmed faces wanting to explain to someone, anyone, in a British reflex of embarrassment why she had dashed in like that. Just then she saw a very familiar someone over in the far corner, obscured by the pointed leaves of a yucca plant. It was Letty! What a lovely surprise; she’d love to share her good news about Jason. Once she’d got her bag – she didn’t want to forget it again – but… hang on… she was with a man… a man who wasn’t Lance! Their heads were close together, she was touching him on the knee and they were laughing, looking very comfortable. Oh, Letty, she thought, what had happened to the woman last night who’d declared she’d do something for herself? That she wouldn’t depend on a man for self-esteem?
Frankie felt disappointed and sad that Letty had been on the cusp of a discovery yet hadn’t had the courage to go through with it. So who was he? She strained her eyes to get a glimpse as a breeze jostled the leaves. And then her heart stopped at the sight of his profile and the way he was ruffling his sticky-up hair. Letty was with Floyd. And they looked intimate and involved, deep in conversation, oblivious to anyone else. What was going on?
Frankie had to get out of there. Not waiting for the barman to act, she stood on the foot rail and leaned over the bar to find the bag for herself. Then she fled.
Saturday Morning
Em
Making canapés was right up there on Em’s Top 5 Things To Do List, she calculated as she mashed up the ingredients for pea and feta toasts.
Not that she’d admit it to anyone because they’d laugh. Theirs were brimming with clothes shopping, eating out at posh restaurants, competitive exercise, wild holidays and getting drunk; all of which were about extravagant behav
iour, which she just didn’t get.
Hers were simpler, more self-sufficient, and she was glad of it. Number five was going to work for fulfilment and satisfaction reasons, number four was geeky telly – whether watching it or living it at the Doctor Who Experience in Cardiff Bay, which she’d visited nine times. At three were crosswords, sudoku and jigsaws. But it was tough to choose a number one and two out of walking and cooking. Walking had its obvious health and head-clearing benefits, while cooking was good for her soul and she liked eating very much. Could she cope with a tie? She mulled it over, weighing up the pros and cons, then thought ‘oh, to hell with it’, it was her list so yes, she could!
Em breathed in the sunshine; today was so clear she could see the Severn Bridge shimmering in the distance. In the lounge, she’d flung open the doors of her little balcony, and the muted buzz of people enjoying drinks in the Bay would occasionally come in on the wind. Em sighed with happiness.
She wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world right now, she thought, as she prepared amuse-bouches for the gathering she was hosting tomorrow in a joint celebration of Floyd and Sasha’s engagement and her pregnancy. Sasha had been the one to persuade her to double up – she’d known Em would never go for a baby shower nearer the due date when all eyes would be on her. ‘But don’t you just want your own special moment,’ Em had asked. Sasha, so thoughtfully, had said she wanted to share it.
It had also given Em the shove she’d needed to tell Mum and Dad they were going to be grandparents. Although she’d have preferred to do it over the phone – it would be less dramatic – it had rung out. This wasn’t unusual – they had an unreliable old-fashioned phone which made two plastic cups and a piece of string look sophisticated. You could forget about any mobile service out there too. Fancying a drive, she’d gone up there and faced the mad music of delight and tears and hugs. What had she always said, she’d laughed, that Mum would’ve been proud of her for doing something out of character for once! Mum had denied this, obviously. But in a glimpse of the depth of the love that Em knew she would feel for her child, her parents had cancelled their trip to Spain – they wouldn’t want to miss the baby for the world. And of course Mum would stay for the first fortnight. It was such a relief to know she wouldn’t be alone.